Obession
by Novalia1001
Summary: What the hell is wrong with you? Getting sick like this-!" Soul was cut off. "You knw all of our friends have obsessions?" He blinked. "Did you hear a single word I said?"


Obsession

The public bars of London were rather uptight and sophisticated, in his opinion- not cool, but elegant and suited to his withdrawn style. A mumbling drunkard beside him was begging the bar tender for more alcohol, a pretty lady with black hair kept up in a pony tail, and obviously annoyed with her work. Red, lazy irises glanced down at the ticking face of a numberless analogue watch.

"You've got somewhere you have to be?" a female voice in mild English ancient caused him to glance up to the young woman he was admiring moments earlier, wiping the split beer of the half conscious man beside him and warm eyes waiting for a response.

He chuckled. "Who wants to know?"

With an observing smile she watched him: a black jacket (leather, wow) hanging on the back of the chair, though he was wearing a smooth, solid blue long sleeved jersey, dark jeans and odd marker-graffiti abused sneakers. She threw the damp towel over her shoulder then leaned on the table, untroubled by his unwavering gaze or the pigment of his eyes.

"Trying to earn a lady's name, are you?" she joked mildly. "You'd think a handsome fellow like you'd already have a girlfriend."

Soul impassively took a sip of his own beer. "Trying to past time," he corrected. "I've got to until my partner comes for me."

"Partner?" she repeated, stepping back and grabbing a glass, moving from the gesture of an impatient customer. "Are you one of those Shibusen students? The ones that hunt down those... those... what do you call them?"

She dashed over to the smoking old man and placed the liquor before him, appearing before Soul as he filled in the blank space for her.

"Kishin," he muttered, taking another sip.

"Yeah, that's it," she nodded. "One of them is about here?"

"Was, we got him last night."

"What are you still doing here then?"

He glanced at his watch again and stood, grabbing the black jacket from the back of his chair. "Today's my partner's birthday and she absolutely refused to leave London unless it was properly celebrated."

She smirked. "So you're heading to the party now?"

"Are you joking?" he looked over his shoulder as he threw the jacket unto his shoulders. "I'm boarding the next flight to Nevada regardless if she's coming or not!"

She laughed. "You're an awful partner!"

"So I've been told."

It was raining. Evening showers were common to the abiding adolescent, and for once he welcomed it. A good wash out from the mind warping drink he had accepted thrice. He groaned as his mind began reeling. Relief broke over in waves as he ascended the steps to the hotel the gang was staying at, and he caught the elevator just as it was about to close. A bellboy greeted him kindly.

"Where to, sir?" he asked, gloved finger ready to press a button.

"Third floor," he managed. He flinched once the elevator rose, and his stomach agreed even less once it came to a stop.

"Have a nice evening, sir," his elevator companion greeted and Soul responded with a grunt in acknowledgement.

The keys to his rented room were ready in his pocket, and he leaned against the door, slipping the key into the lock and pushing it open. The lamps for the den were on, he noticed, but other than that everything was virtually untouched. He shut the door and staggered over to the couch, throwing his wet jacket on the back and flinching when he felt flesh beneath the rustled covers. It moved letting out a groan before remaining silent again.

Soul sat on the edge of the couch and pulled the sheets down, fingers unintentionally brushing over the soft skin of Maka's cheek and neck. He instantly noticed her burning temperature, but placed his full palm against her forehead to check.

Pale green eyes flickered open and frowned at him. "Soul?" he voice was hoarse.

"What's the matter with you?" he questioned instantly, "One extra day in a foreign country and you get yourself sick? Much less to the point that you can't move? What the hell were you thinking?"

"You know, Soul," his eyes were keen to her weak response. "A lot of our friends have obsessions. Did you know that?"

He gawked at her. "Did you hear a single word I said?" he asked, white brow twitching.

"Black Star is obsessed with overcoming God," she rambled on, "Kidd is obsessed with symmetry, Tsubaki is obsessed with Black Star's safety, Patty's obsessed with giraffe's, Liz's obsessed with getting a boyfriend, Stein is obsessed with dissection, Papa's obsessed with women..."

"And you," Soul added, watching her with a smile. She nodded. "And me," a hiccup escaped her lips. "Marie's obsessed with retiring and getting married, Crona's obsessed with sad things, Sid's obsessed with-!"

Before she could finish, Soul lifted her from the couch, sheet and all, and slung her over his shoulder, making Maka hang onto him upside down.

"Don't do that!" she wailed, lightly kicking him. "I feel dizzy! Put me down!"

"As your Highness wishes," Soul commented, tossing her down on her bed and smirking at the dazed look on her face. She flopped back on her pillow and kicked down the sheets, rolling on her side until her back was to Soul. He grabbed the edge of the covers and pulled it up to her small shoulders, noticing the glazed look in her eyes lined with fatigue.

"I hope you enjoyed that party," he muttered sarcastically.

"No," she mumbled.

Soul frowned. "Huh? Why not?"

"Because you're obsessed with being cool and Sid's obsessed with the man he was when he was alive and-!"

"Instead of talking about others in your drunken state," Soul hissed, leaning over her, "talk about yourself like normal drunkards."

"But I'm not obsessed," she objected, hazy eyes glancing over to him.

"Yes you are- with beating your father."

"No, I'm not."

"Maka," he pleaded. "Just go to _sleep_."

"But I'm not!" she yelled and Soul huffed, burying his face in his hands while still sitting on the edge of her bed. "At least not anymore," she said in softer tones. Soul glanced at her. "Since I already helped make a Death Scythe that defeated Papa. I helped make the perfect weapon."

He studied her carefully. She was looking at him now, smiling faintly and seeming even more tired than before. He stood, wiping the mild blush that was creeping up his neck away. "Go to sleep, Maka," he ordered, "and let this be the last time I have to tuck you in- whether your drunk or not."

"I'm not drunk...!" her voice faded away into light breathing, Soul's cue to leave her room.

The next day on the plane when Soul questioned her about it, she couldn't remember a thing.

**I KNOW THAT THERE ARE A LOT OF SELFISH REVEIWERS OUT THERE WHO DON'T REVEIW! DON'T BRING THAT LAZY ATTITUDE HERE! IF YOU LIKE MY STORY OR NOT, SAY SO AND MAYBE I WOULDN'T HAVE TO BE SO VERBALLY AGRESSIVE! EVERYONE'S SO MEAN!!**

_Long story short: please review._


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